


It's an Old Song......

by Imasha



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell, Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, For Me, Gen, I love all these people, Princess Tutu - Freeform, and I wish I could give them all good things, but these tears have such strong feels, this was necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:02:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasha/pseuds/Imasha
Summary: Hadestown as told with Princess Tutu characters. Spoilers for Hadestown.





	It's an Old Song......

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

He loved her. He loved her so much. Ahiru. Standing up on a hill, against the sky… She was his muse. She was his life. She was everything.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

“Fakir?” The storm was on her, and she just wanted to be warm, be safe. She was so hungry… Where was Fakir?

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

Mytho offered her his hand. Ahiru was a lovely young woman, with a voice pure and sweet. And he could use a canary.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

“It’s too damn hot in here,” Rue snapped. “Just for you,” Mytho rumbled. Everything he made, everything he had, was for her. And she didn’t want any of it. Not anymore.

“Charon, please,” Fakir pleaded. “I need to find her. I need her.”

“How far would you go?” Charon responded.

“Everywhere; anywhere. Please!”

“She called your name before she left. Down below.”

Fakir didn’t even hesitate. “Please.”

“Well…”

“Why won’t anyone look at me?” Ahiru asked desperately, but she knew. They wouldn’t look, wouldn’t see, by choice. Everyone was staring down too hard, keeping their focus on the ground, on the grind, with their minds lost in the sounds. The anvils and gears, timecards and fears of the world they’d left behind.

Of the world  _ she’d  _ left behind.

“This is Freedom,” Mytho announced from behind the walls of his town, his realm. From the end of the railroad line and beneath glaring lights, among oil drums and automobiles. “This is Freedom,” echoed his subjects, noses down, hardly remembering even a name from another time, another life. Not daring to care.

Rue catered to the people of the town, the workers and laborers, all stripped to sorrow and numbness. She rattled their minds and gave them the hopes of things they once missed, still held in some part of mind, could never regain again. The Lady of the Underground shared her wares, spirits, and song.

It was what she could do to survive.

“It’s you!” she breathed.

“It’s you,” he sighed, and they held each other close again.

“Fakir…”

“Ahiru.”

He had walked and walked and sung his way down, and now they were together once more. She still remembered and still clung to the memories, and now they could try again.

Except…

“He won’t let us leave,” Ahiru murmured to him.

“Who?”

Mytho rose up behind them, foreboding and glowering.

“ _ Me _ .”

“Naive, aren’t you?” Mytho said. “She came down here herself. She made her choice; she’s mine.”

“She what?” Fakir asked.

“You don’t care about her,” Rue quipped, feeling pity for the boy.

“I care about order,” Mytho said. He wouldn’t let a boy fell his kingdom for a girl.

“You don’t know,” Fakir said, singing to the masses. “Who knows, what could change, what could be?”

The people still had ears, and heard his mournful rally cry.

“If it’s true? If it’s not? Does only one decide? Who lies and who’s right, are they one and the same?”

And the people started to turn their heads, up.

“You’re something, boy, you’re very persuasive,” Mytho cornered the musician and held him in place. “You got my workers to stop and my wife to plead.” It’d been so long since his wife had any soft words for him, even if they stung. “So sing me a tune, Fakir; it’ll be your last.”

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

“Where did you hear that?”

“Let him finish, Mytho.” Rue knew the song.

And so did Mytho.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

The king and queen listened. And then danced. And the world could maybe be right again. Spring didn’t have to be forgotten and abandoned.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

They were reminded of love, of things lost, and how things could begin anew. And that they could reclaim so much more.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

Only Mytho couldn’t let them go without worry, without rules. What kind of king would he be if he did? So he sent them walking back, Fakir and Ahiru, the girl behind, the boy in front. Love between them with the dark.

But Mytho knew the doubt that comes in darkness, in worry, in panic. Their trust was love but it was tenuous and he knew, that if tried, it might break.

But he wished them luck.

Fakir could start on the trek with ease, but hard as it was to go and to walk, the worse time was in his mind.

Would she follow?

Was she there?

Did he matter?

Did she care?

And he held out and on for so, so long. He reached the fields above, glorious, happy— 

A gasp.

“Fakir…”

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

Rue kissed her husband goodbye, promising to talk more when fall came around. Mytho let her go, already waiting, hoping, for when she would return. And finally, finally, spring came again.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

Fakir vanished, wandering the world, with his music and song.

Alone.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

“I raise my cup,” Rue said, giving her toast. Everyone else raised with her. “I raise it up to him.” Wishing him comfort, if nothing else.

For the one who dared sing a love song.

_ “Laaa lala laa la la laaa…” _

_ “It’s an old song… It’s a sad song…  _

_ But we sing it anyway.” _


End file.
